


Caught

by NYC_Sidewalk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friendship/Love, Stark family feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYC_Sidewalk/pseuds/NYC_Sidewalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya always leaves a trail of destruction behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From last April’s Evidence prompt. Originally posted in Tumblr.

“Damnit, Arya!”

His little sister suddenly looked up from her bowl of Frosties and mumbled through a mouthful of cornflakes what sounded like a “Whuuufhhh?” as milk dribbled down on her chin. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he growled as he held up a brownish, gooey clump on his gloved right hand. “Get rid of your goddamn hair when you use my shower!”

Jon would have looked more terrifying if he didn’t have shampoo suds on his head and wearing only a white towel around his waist and a yellow rubber glove.

“Gross,” Arya said flatly. Jon was inches from chucking that hairball to her breakfast, but instead resigned to angrily dumping it in the kitchen trash bin. Whenever Arya stays the night at his flat – mainly because she was too drunk or too lazy or too anything to go home – she always leaves a trail of destruction behind and sheds hair everywhere. She’s worse than Ghost. “Yes, _you_ are very gross,” he retorted.

“Well, I’m not the one dripping water on the floor and walking around naked in front of guests,” she pointed him with her spoon.

That’s it, he thought. “You’re banned from using my shower! You hear me?!” he yelled before retreating back into the bathroom and slamming the door.

*******

“I think Arya has a boyfriend.”

Gendry violently choked on his soda at that. Jon narrowed his eyes at his long-time friend. “Went down the wrong pipe,” Gendry explained when he can finally breathe. “Why do you think that?”

Jon drew his eyebrows together and sourly grumbled, “She barely stays at my place anymore and she’s always making up lame excuses on weekends.” He tried to snoop around, but Arya is a brick wall. “I bet it’s that blue-haired douche from her fencing team! I saw him drop her off at home.”

“What blue-haired douche?” Gendry looked upset with this information, but quickly schooled his face. “Well, you did ban her from your flat,” he pointed out. Jon doesn’t remember mentioning that conversation to his friend. And he didn’t ban her from the flat, just the shower. “Maybe she’s just busy with practice. It’s semi-finals next month,” he continued. Jon also doesn’t remember talking to Gendry about Arya’s training. He didn’t even know she has a competition coming up. When did they become so close?

*******

“Can’t stand. Too full.”

Jon moaned after his second and a half helping of Gendry’s homemade lasagna. “You are a domestic god,” Arya teased Gendry, who was chortling next to her. Since Jon kept whining on how he barely saw his sister and friend these days, Gendry offered to make them dinner at his flat and just hang out. “As your god, I now command you to do the dishes,” he replied with a booming voice. Arya just raised an eyebrow, “You _command_ me?” Gendry smiled at her and sweetly added, “Pretty please?”

Jon would like to think he isn’t a suspicious man, but something is definitely up with these two. Who was he kidding, he is a very suspicious and paranoid man! He believes Arya is hiding a secret git of a boyfriend somewhere and, when he spied a hickey on his friend’s neck during football, he figured Gendry has a girl he’s keeping away from him too.

Arya was already taking their plates to the sink when Jon excused himself to go to the bathroom in Gendry’s bedroom. Well, Arya is right; Gendry could be a domestic god. His room is always so neat – as neat as can be for guys – and his bathroom is impossibly clean. He was looking for a towel after washing his hands when he noticed something – a dark mass clogging up the shower drain. He doesn’t know why but he inspected closely and saw long, brown, not unlike the hair that he usually finds on his drain.

No. Jon shook his head. No fucking way. He left the bathroom with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Gendry could just be seeing some random brown-haired chick. There are millions of brown-haired chicks in Westeros, he thought logically. But when he spotted more wisps of the same mousy brown hair on his white pillow and bed, everything suddenly clicked. Fuming, he went back to the kitchen ready to demand a confession. But then he saw his sister doing the dishes, happily chatting with Gendry who is standing close and drinking his after-meal coffee. She’s smiling. She hasn’t truly smiled like that in a while, not after their dad’s death. "Damnit, Arya," Jon thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned but never actually progressed to writing the continuation of this story — until today. This is a back story of sorts before Jon figured out anything. Thanks for the reviews and kudos! :)

He loudly yawned for the third time and ran his hand on his stubbled face. Gendry checked his watch and grumbled under his breath again. It’s 6:42, he’s running late and hungover as hell. A distraught and drunk Anguy suddenly rang him up last night and blathered on how Dancy, his “sort of girlfriend,” cheated on him. Left with no other choice, Gendry called Lem for backup and met Anguy at The Peach, where they consoled – or congratulated? – him with cheap tequila.

 

So there he was, groggily navigating through Flour Street in large strides to reach the only 24/7 café, grab a coffee, and head down to Mott’s garage. The old man was sick and wanted him to man the auto shop, which meant being there at 7:00 to sign supply deliveries, organize paperwork, clean, open up, and as his boss so eloquently put it, “not fuck things up.” Just his luck, Gendry’s car is also in the garage with a broken compressor, so he had to walk – in this case, run – to work today.

 

When he finally reached the small café with its telltale ding of the hanging door bell, he headed straight to the drowsy teen behind the counter and ordered a Black Eye. Good thing there wasn't a queue. The place was actually empty except for an elderly couple having waffles, a yuppie on his laptop, and Arya curled up on the couch.

 

Wait, what?

 

It _was_ Arya; sleeping on her side on the old, dingy couch with her black Winterfell Direwolves jacket around her as a makeshift blanket. Gendry has known Arya as long as he has known Jon, which felt like an eternity. Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon served in the army together, so their families are pretty close. And when his absentee of a dad was feeling generous or sober, Robert brought Gendry and his other half-siblings along to these gatherings. Being broody, illegitimate children, Jon and Gendry became fast friends.

 

He fondly remembers a 10-year-old Arya, with her boyish haircut and dirty knees, who always tagged along and demanded to be included in whatever mischief he, Jon, and sometimes Robb were up to. She was always moving about, getting into trouble and had an opinion about everything. She’s still like that now, only she has directed her boundless energy to sports. Arya had done a lot of growing up during her time in Braavos. She was quieter now, and a lot prettier. For someone sleeping in a public area, she looked so peaceful with her messy brown hair framing her slender face, eyes closed and lips slightly open. She has really long lashes, he noted. Gendry didn’t like where his train of thought is taking him so he shook her awake.

 

Arya woke up with a start, instinctively reached out for her bag and looked ready to punch whoever dare distrubed her. “Oh,” came her voice thick with sleep when realization finally hit her. Her rumpled shirt slipped off her shoulder revealing more tanned skin and Gendry was forced to look at the space atop her head. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a yawn. “Not sleeping, that’s for sure.” he retorted. “Well, you’re a ball of sunshine,” she deadpanned.

 

Ignoring the comment, he pressed on. “Why are you here, Arya?”

 

She gathered her hair in a messy bun and explained, “I was tired and Jon kicked me out.” He raised his eyebrows at that, unconvinced that Jon – her favorite, beloved brother — would do anything of the sort. “Fine, he didn’t,” she admitted. “But he’s a butthead whenever I’m there, so I hang out here.”

 

“Why don’t you just go home then?” he reasoned. “I don’t want to,” she argued and by the stubborn look on her face, that’s the end of that conservation. From what Jon told him, Arya usually sleeps at his flat after school or practice, eats all his food, then leaves at the crack of dawn to sneak back to Winterfell. Jon guesses it’s her way of coping with the absence of her parents, so he just leaves her to it.

 

“How long have you been doing this exactly?”

 

“Couple of days. I just needed a place to think before I go home, okay?” She was pouting now. He wanted to point out that she's got plenty of space to think at their huge mansion, but decided to hold his tongue. He can’t deal with Arya right now, not when alcohol and bile are churning in his stomach and she was scrunching up her nose in that cute way.

 

Just go home, was what he was supposed to say. But his mouth formed other words. “Crash at my place then.” Where did that come from? Arya must be thinking along the same line as confusion and surprise reflected in her eyes.

 

She was about to say no, but Gendry interrupted her before he can actually process why this was such a terrible suggestion.

 

“I’m at work early anyways, and I come home late. You can sleep on the pull-out sofa if you want. Just don’t bum around like this. It's dangerous.”

 

There was a long pause with Arya just staring at him and Gendry thought she was going to stubbornly refuse, but instead she said, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.” She agreed with a small smile and quietly said thanks. Gendry disentangled his house key from his old novelty keychain and handed it to her. “I have a spare at the shop,” he reassured her. When he noticed the time, he cursed again. “I really need to run,” and bid a hasty goodbye to her before all good sense returned to him. He quickly picked up his to-go cup and chanced a last look at Arya, who was stretching like a cat. Her shirt was riding up her tummy. This was definitely a terrible idea, he scolded himself and was out the door.


End file.
